Elske
by engelslovesmarx
Summary: Every step she takes is on sharp knives. TristanOFC


This story is a crossover fic between the book Elske by Cynthia Voight and King Arthur. The character Elske is not mine and neither are the Wolfers (Volkaric) or any of the Knights. There is a bit of back round reading you should skim through that might make everything make a little more sense. I found this on the Barnes&Noble website…

Raised among the barbaric Wolfers of Volkaric, 12-year-old Elske has been in preparation for her death her entire life. For she was chosen at birth to be the "death maiden," and her life is soon to be sacrificed to please the Volkking. But Elske's grandmother, who has raised her since infancy, pulls off a bit of last-minute chicanery so that she is the one sacrificed instead.

A few changes have been made. The Elske in my story is around 17 and instead of going to Trastad as she does in the book, she will have a much different journey. Apologies to anyone who has read the book and hates the changes (I know I probably would :p)

Thanks for reading.

Elske ran faster now. She had been running for so long, longer than she had even thought possible. The wolves were calling to each other so she quickened her pace, she wasn't about to become their dinner. Her chest was burning and the lack of oxygen was making her dizzy. The soft undergrowth of grass and leaves that her feet were so accustomed to quickly turned in to sticks and jagged rocks, tearing and scarring her feet. She wasn't used to this, this absolute fear and panic that struck so hard it makes you want to pass out from feeling it. Her people did not feel fear, but she wasn't with her people any more. Her life until this had been fairly simple and straight forward. She had had one purpose only and that was to be the death maiden. She did not ask why it had been her or why the ritual was done at all. All that she knew was that being the death maiden was her one purpose and now that she was free she had absolutely no idea what she was to do. Maybe she would not do anything, maybe she would die here. Everything had changed, but she would not think of that now, it hurt too badly. Right now she would focus on the pain in her feet and not in her heart.

Elske didn't dare to stop; she knew they would be looking for her. They would hunt her like an animal and kill her for what she had done. That was the price you had to pay when living in the Volkaric, obey or die. Everyone obeyed and no one ever questioned the ways of the tribe for that was all they had ever known. And the system worked, they knew it and Elske knew it. She knew she deserved to be killed. She wouldn't let them though, for fear over took her along with the overwhelming feeling that she was meant for so much more than this.

Arthur was getting worried. Camelot was newly built and would not be able to fend off many more attacks from the Wolfers. They were a barbaric tribe that raped and pillaged, murdered and tortured. They valued woman only for their ability to pleasure and bare children. The Wolfers represented everything that Arthur stood against and were slowly getting stronger and stronger. Their attacks were random, with no way of knowing when they would strike next. They took what they wanted, when they wanted. These people were dangerous and fearless, and the only thing he could do was pray that his young city would survive.

Arthur still had his knights though, they would follow him to the ends of the earth. A few had tried to return home but quickly found that home was not what they remembered. Too many years had passed and they all soon realized that their home was now Camelot, with Arthur, and each other.

Tristan felt something stirring inside of him. He was not used to sitting around, waiting for something to happen. He wanted to take action against the Wolfers now but he knew that was not possible. He slowly sipped his drink and looked around the room. Lancelot was flirting shamelessly with the serving girl. Gawain and Galahad were throwing knives at a target, 'probably not the safest thing for two very drunk men to do' he thought. Dag was teaching Lucan how to read maps properly at a nearby table and Bors was speaking to Vanora who was cradling number thirteen. So much had happened in the past three years yet much had stayed the same. They were still all brothers and Arthur was still their King.

Tristan sighed and stood up from the table to walk over to where Gawain had almost hit Galahad with one of the throwing knives. Someone had to make sure they didn't get killed...

Elske finally became too weary to go on and she stopped at a stream to drink from it. She had survived three days in the forest so far. Elske was a smart girl; she knew which berries to eat and which plants to stay away from. She knew numbers and letters and often practiced writing them in the dirt with her fingers. She knew the language of the Volkaric but she had also learned the language of Briton and of Rome. Her grandmother had taught her many things that the people of the Volkaric had no use for. They had no use for languages and numbers or reading and writing.

Else quickly found a place to rest. She was used to sleeping on the hard ground, for the woman of the Volkaric are not pampered or fawned over. The men made themselves beds to lie on, the woman were made to sleep on the floor. Elske was lucky to have become the death maiden for it meant that the men would leave her alone, that she was for the Volkking only. She was mostly left alone by the woman too, save for her grandmother, which was fine with her, she preferred it that way. She tried not to dwell on her grandmother for too long. Eventually she fell asleep under the dark sky as clouds formed and rain began to fall, leaving her to her painful memories and the bitter cold.


End file.
